Legends
by uklangor
Summary: The lands of Avalon were the final refuge of the Old Gods, Heroes and Champions of the world's Myths. War there has ended and peace has returned to the empty lands. The Lady of the Lake survives, but uncovers something that will require the greatest of Celtic, Greek and Norse Legends to return...


**ONE**

Following the war, Nimue had taken to wandering empty Avalon with no thought on direction or purpose. She had stumbled upon the Wulver tribe by accident and had remained; the memory of once swearing to be a Warden had surfaced yet again.

Like a parasite she fed from their emotions, hoping to restore her own. A fearsome looking people, the wolf headed Wulvers were kind, humble and hardworking. She was gladdened by the success of the crop Meztak farmed in his pathetic fields and how he willingly shared the meager produce; cried when Jororl's pup was born still; cried even more when her mate, Neogrue, rushed to her side; rejoiced when Protoe, the chief's son, danced at his fourteenth Birth year and took his first mate; mourned the passing of Thake the Elder, and sang their songs of remembrance to her. To be so close to life again seemed to heal her heart at last. At night she would leave her lake, check the crops were planted right, the young and frail were resting well, returned lost items to their owners, even tended broken tools and mended clothing. The Wulvers were a superstitious tribe and left offerings for their 'helpful spirit' which Nimue gratefully took when next she prowled the camp.

It was not long, however, before she began to dwell on dark thoughts again. When would the Wulvers meet with destruction, pestilence, war or famine? Would this night be the last? Would they capture the Collector's unwholesome interest? Nimue had seen it too many times in the past, every tribe or community or village she had watched over had always eventually succumbed to the inevitable: death. While she hid during the day the dark thoughts would give way to betting with herself upon how long they had left and what the likely cause of their downfall would be. Then at night as she patrolled, unseen, through their homes she would debate with herself about whether to abandon them, unwilling to witness their eventual suffering, or to stay and actually reveal herself, perhaps try to stop them dying.

One night, after their even-song the tribe was agitated. Protoe was gesturing at the sky and the others watched, even Jororl who had little interest in such matters. The Wulvers stayed up late into the night watching, leaving a guard to continue a vigil when most had finally retired, Nimue stayed in the lake unwilling to be seen.

She spent the following day deep in thought. The end was fast approaching the tribe; she was sure, but in a manner of which she was not expecting. She puzzled over what could have captured their interest in the sky; she contemplated whether to leave now, to spare herself the visions of the tribe collapsing. She had seen far too many times what panic and desperation could to do a people, how quickly they could turn to sacrifice still disturbed her.

The following night there was no even-song, the Wulvers stayed awake longer, their night guard had doubled in size and Nimue stayed in her lake, unwilling to be spotted as she left it. The following day was long, Meztak kept away from his field, Protoe argued with his mate, even Neogrue stayed in the camp and refused to hunt. Jororl sat by the altar with gifts. She cried as she placed them, it was the first time Nimue had seen her offer anything to the 'helpful spirit'.

Ten days had passed when Nimue finally emerged from her watery grotto. She stepped boldly from the lake, but the Wulvers did not behold her as she had feared. Instead she was able to don the Gywn Ilen and was immediately hidden from view. The offerings given were piled around the altar, many had spoiled, yet more had been placed around. The Wulvers were desperate, the offerings were bigger and more numerous. They had given more than they could be without, desperate for the 'helpful spirit' to return. Guilt kept her eyes fixed on the gifts, while the Wulvers watched the night sky.

Nimue finally looked; a large white orb brighter than any star or moon kept their attention. As she watched, she could tell it was moving and then suddenly the sky lit up as if day had come to night. The Wulvers screamed and howled, some cowered where they stood, some fled to their dwellings and others ran from the camp. Through a gap in her fingers Nimue watched as the orb sailed over head and struck the ground between the settlement and the horizon with a boom that drowned out the cry of the prone Wulvers.

The silence that followed was even worse, the noise of the land, of the creatures that lived, had paused. Nature itself was holding its breath, unsure of what to do. Near to Nimue's hidden feet huddled Protoe's mate; her hand clasped to her belly, she was with pup. Nimue finally realized that this was the time, pulling the mantle down she was revealed to the Wulvers. They looked on her aghast and bent their knee and their heads.

Protoe's father, Cretor, spoke in the growling, snarling language of the Wulver.

'We had watched your chariot in the sky for many days. We are a simple people.'

'You are far from simple, Cretor. Alas, that was not my chariot. I am of the lake, I have watched over you in recent times.' Nimue replied.

The stunned silence lasted only for a brief moment before whisperings of 'helpful spirit' rippled through the assembly, joyful tears wet their fur.

'We are gladdened that you have returned. The chariot… we thought you had left.'

'The chariot belongs to someone who should not be here. Cretor, please lend me your warriors; I need to see where the chariot is. We may need to fight.'

'My warriors are yours, but we will be a little use in a fight between spirits.'

'Cretor I have watched your people long enough to know you are capable of more than you think. Fire up your furnace, I can show you secrets of iron to make it harder, sharper and stronger; I can show you how to bend it to use to protect as well.'

Nimue worked without break so that by the end of the second day all twenty warriors promised to her wore armour and held shields and weapons of steel. Protoe was to be her second and for him she made the strongest armour and the hardiest weapons. She returned to the lake; the touch of the water reinvigorating to tired muscles and eyes, refreshing to a weary head and plentiful to an empty stomach. She took to the deepest part to wait for morning, hoping that what they'd find would be the dead and dying and all that the Wulvers would have to do would be merciful. She silently questioned why she had involved the Wulvers and started to cry.

At first light she gathered the warriors in the centre of the camp. The Wulvers looked monstrous in their burnished steel armour; the rounded plates molded around their form and held in place with numerous straps and buckles. They looked uncomfortable, but were unwilling to show it. They held the swords, axes and maces more confidently; the Wulvers were tough fighters used to melee combat. Jororl approached and unfurled a banner she had made for them. The white wolf's head on a blue field represented the Wulvers and Nimue's lake, she explained. Torg, one of the warriors, raised it on a pole and proudly brandished it for all to see. Protoe's mate, Kayall, tied a yellow ribbon around his left arm and kissed him for luck.

Cretor wished them all well and Nimue led the way, at first they were solemn, but then once out of sight of the camp their mood lightened. The warriors joked with each other and even Protoe walked by her side. That first night they camped by a gentle brook; Nimue provided fish from it for them and took watch through the night only returning to water when they were all awake in the morning. Their journey took them through thick forest and the Wulvers were dazzled by the assorted aromas reaching their muzzles; for some of the younger warriors, including Protoe, this was further than they had ever been from camp. Protoe had seen enough summers to now be called an adult, but enough of the pup was still in him for the adventure to be exciting. He struggled to remain aloof and mature, which only made Nimue laugh. The sound was sweeter than birdsong and the Wulvers' ears pricked up, enchanted.

That night when they stopped to make camp Protoe spoke to her for the first time.

'Helpful spirit, please bless my mate when we return. She is with pup.' He said, running Kayall's yellow ribbon through his fingers.

'I know, and I will. You will make a good father, Cretor will be proud.'

'Thank you, Helpful spirit.'

'Call me Nimue.' She replied with a smile. He nodded and stood up.

'I will take first watch tonight Nimue. Please rest.'

'There is no need Protoe. I do not need to rest like your people do.'

'But a female should not be left to watch the night alone.'

'I will not be alone.' She replied indicating her weapons.

'You have but a spear and a sword; we are armoured and with more weapons.'

'Ok, I'll make a deal with you.' Nimue took her sword and thrust it into the rock she was stood against. The blade cut into it as if it were made of water. 'Draw my sword from the rock and I'll let you keep watch.'

Protoe gripped the handle and pulled, but the sword held fast. With both hands on the hilt he pulled with all his strength, yet the sword would not budge. Again and again he tried, but the sword stayed where it was, as if part of the rock.

'Spirit trickery.' He mumbled good naturedly. 'Good night _un_-helpful spirit'

Nimue smiled back and with just a finger and thumb on the sword she eased it free of the rock. Then holding it firmly, she swung and smote the boulder in two as Protoe's eyes widened. Shaking his head he went off to lay for the night.

By the middle of the third day they had left the forest and found themselves in mountainous footholds. The rocky terrain fell away in deep valleys and here and there lochs reflected the peaks above them. However, a terrible wound was carved through the calming landscape; here and there strange metallic objects were scattered. Nimue jumped down into the scar; it was as smooth as glass and all twenty of the Wulvers could walk along it shoulder to shoulder with plenty of room for another four companies to easily walk abreast of them. The Wulvers refused to climb down into the trough, so they followed Nimue from the lip as she walked along it. The smooth passage ran straight through the landscape, carving through every obstacle, the landscape had a slight slope downhill and Nimue felt herself stumble several times. The unnatural road stopped abruptly as the ground gave way to a more severe gradient. Looking down from the edge, Nimue finally spied the chariot resting in a rocky basin a short climb below her.

It took Nimue a moment, but she realized that it had landed in a shallow loch, but the water had evaporated away. Metal wreckage littered the site along with other matter Nimue was not able to identify. The sky chariot itself was largely spherical with numerous protrusions and orifices about its dull white surface. It had split in two revealing a honeycombed interior, each chamber bigger than the entire Wulver's homestead. Fluid had leaked from numerous wounds throughout the construction, some still dripped and others had hardened; further around the site lay the rubble its passage had carved through the land following its fall from the sky.

Protoe and the warriors were unnerved by the sight; it was something they could never have expected to see. But Nimue had to look closer. She led the climb down to the edge of the basin, but then as she approached further she felt the heat coming from it on her skin; hotter than any summer sun, she felt like she was burning.

'Go back' she commanded the others as she ventured closer.

The size of the craft was unlike anything she had ever seen; everywhere her eyes were caught by something intriguing; unreadable hieroglyphics; compartments that looked as if punctured from the inside; debris bigger than a house, but so crushed and scarred its use or purpose was unknowable; sunlight reflecting off another surface of unknown material. But all the while there was the withering heat; Nimue's pale blue skin had blackened in places, peeled in others and blistered in yet more. _Nothing could have survived this crash _she told herself. Yet some of the debris was starting to look like limbs, some of the wreckage's surface appeared to be daubed with blackened blood, some of the marks in the basin could have been made from something alive.

Movement caught her eye and in the unearthly heat she spied something trapped under a twisted chunk of debris. She approached closer and found a Shellycoat desperately trying to free itself. It was hissing and squealing as it thrashed around. Without another thought Nimue drew Excalibur and sliced through the wreckage freeing the creature. It immediately got to its feet and sprinted towards the Wulvers on the basin's rim. Nimue quickly followed; glad to be heading away from the heat.

As she jogged Nimue started to question herself. _The Shellycoat should have been cooked within its shell _she thought looking down at her charred skin. _It's been trapped, held in that heat far longer than me, why is it not dead?_ The thing was _fast_, quicker than her. It was almost at the top.

The Wulvers looked unnerved, they were taking steps back, shields were readied and weapons brandished. That was when she spied the hole in the back of the Shellycoat's head and the black tendrils looping from the hole into cracks in the creature's shell along its back. Nimue paused, drew back her arm and threw Gáe Bulg. The spear punctured the Shellycoat's back, the tip splitting into thirty barbs inside the creature's soft inner body. The wound had always been fatal, yet the spear failed to kill the creature, it hadn't even noticed. It reached the Wulver's line and flailed out with its long limbs; it decapitated one and cast another to the ground before the Wulvers had chance to do anything. Protoe charged toward it with his weapon raised; a black tendril erupted from one of the cracks in the Shellycoat's shell, latching onto his face. The tentacle broke away from the Shellycoat and Protoe fell to the ground, clawing at his face. Two Wulvers broke and fled; a third hesitated with his attack and was lifted up by the Shellycoat and ripped in two. One more of the Wulvers turned and ran, one was sick, but the rest surged forward to attack. Its shell cracked under the weapon blows and shield impacts, black tentacles as thin as spider legs tipped with barbs and hooks sprung from the cracks. They pierced between metal plates, or hooked into eye sockets or knocked legs away; three more were killed and two were sent crashing to the ground. Further from the cracks in the Shellycoat's shell, dark tendrils fired out into the faces of another two Wulvers, leaving them writhing on the ground.

Nimue reached the rim; she sent Excalibur cutting through the chitinous legs and one of the Shellycoat's shell covered arms with ease. It moved so fast a tendril knocked her legs out from under her sending her onto her back. It stood over her raising another of the barb-tipped spider-like legs, when Torg hammered into the exposed shaft of Gáe Bulg still sticking out of the Shellycoat's back. The creature stood firm but Torg succeeded in freeing the spear in an explosion of splintered shell, gore and dark ichor. The Shellycoat spun round piercing Torg's head with hooks and barbs; already thicker tentacles and spider-like legs were growing from the thing's now exposed back wound. Torg died screaming, but he had saved Nimue's life. The extra limbs struck out at the remaining Wulvers; they tried to knock aside the attacks with their shields and hacked at the long limbs with their axes and blades. But for each one cut, another grew. The time it took for Nimue to get back on her feet she had to see three more deaths. Donning the Gywn Ilen the Shellycoat did not see her approach this time and she was free to drive Excalibur into the source of the tendrils within the hole in the back of its head. Without a sound the creature fell to the ground and then lifelessly slid down the basin back to the wreckage of the sky chariot.


End file.
